


(disclosed)

by devilishMendicant



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, Seriously y'all, WHERE ARE THE HECA/JUN FICS GUYS, WHY AM I THE FIRST ONE TO USE THE CLOWNPIECE TAG, gods above help me, intentionally vague location
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5901082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilishMendicant/pseuds/devilishMendicant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hecatia knows that something is deeply wrong when Junko breaks down in the middle of the clinic’s lobby, begs her to tell them that they can’t make her leave, that she will not leave, that she can’t leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(disclosed)

**Author's Note:**

> if you notice while reading that I have Portrayed Something Incorrectly in this fic, please please please comment or PM me and tell me. thank you!

Hecatia knows that something is deeply wrong when Junko breaks down in the middle of the clinic’s lobby, begs _her_ to tell _them_ that they can’t make her leave, that she will not leave, that _she can’t leave._ Hecatia knows it the whole time while the poor doctor, harried man, pulls her aside to _properly explain things -_ they don’t want her older…

 

_Friend,_ she says tersely.

 

Right, he says, they don’t want her contracting whatever Kura’s got. Kura should be just fine, he hurries to append, she’s young enough that she’ll bounce back, not too young that she can’t handle it. She should be fine, in a matter of days, in fact. She should be fine.

 

Junko, on the other hand, might not be.

 

“It’s very lucky that she hasn’t been infected,” he says, “Considering all the very close contact it seems that they’ve come into recently--”

 

“She can’t come in to see her,” Hecatia cuts in, and the doctor shakes his head.

 

Hecatia _knows_ something is deeply wrong when she tries her best to communicate this to Junko - by now head down, legs dangerously close to folding up, obstinate and trembling and _gods,_ she’s not going to be able to get her out of here without causing (even more of) a scene if she locks up - and the other woman looks up at her with nothing but _fear,_ deep and raw, in her eyes.

 

_“I can’t leave,”_ she whispers, and though nobody else does, Hecatia hears the single, unvoiced word.

 

_Again._

 

Junko cries, silent, all the way home, and Hecatia knows, knows, _knows._

 

* * *

 

Honestly, Hecatia has known something was wrong, _very_ wrong, from the day Kura called her at one-o’clock in the afternoon - one hour before lunch break - on one of those days where Hecatia still had work though Kura didn’t have school. The woman used to simply bring her child with her, on those days, as she had done on the day the two of them met Junko for the first time - but ever since their lives had become more and more entwined, Junko often would volunteer to watch Kura while Hecatia was away.

 

“It’s the least I can do,” she always said, waving it off with a shake of the head, a small smile. “Besides, what else would I be doing? Playing tennis at some stuffy country club? Honestly, I’d _rather_ be here with her.” And little Kura would puff up a bit, would grin.

 

And so it was during one of those days that Hecatia, not a moment after she’d sent off the last customer from the payment line, noticed that her pocket was buzzing rather insistently. Glancing down the row to make sure nobody was coming up, she drew her cell phone from her pocket, looked down as a few tinny bars of “The Star-Spangled Banner” began to play.

 

Kura was calling.

 

Why was Kura calling?

 

_Well, maybe she just forgot the time,_ Hecatia thought, shaking her head and switching the ringer off. _I’ll call her back during lunch hour and remind her._

 

She waited for the phone to stop vibrating.

 

It didn’t.

 

Three minutes straight of buzzing, buzzing, _buzzing_ later, Hecatia snapped the phone back up, brow furrowed in thought, setting the “Checkstand Closed” sign up. _I’ll be back in one second,_ she mouthed to her co-worker across the aisle, who shrugged, nodded, as she excused herself to the break room.

 

Once the door was safely shut behind her, she tapped the little green icon and held the phone to her ear.

 

“Kura?”

 

“Mama?” Kura burst out, and her next words were so breathless, tremulous, that nary a word she tried to say escaped her throat intelligible.

 

“Calm down-- Kura, honey, calm down, take a deep breath--” Hecatia murmured, juggling the phone to her other ear, fighting to keep her own rising worry from entering her voice. “Take a deep breath, and tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“Mommy won’t, Mommy won’t, M-Mommy won’t, come out, of, the bathroom--” The child stammered, and Hecatia’s eyes widened, hands catching at her cell phone as it dropped a full inch from her ear.

 

_“What?”_

 

“She _won’t come out!”_ Kura wails, “T-The door won’t open up and she won’t, she isn’t _saying_ anything she’s just making, _noises,_ and, a-and I asked her, to come back out, and I said _please_ and she _won’t--”_

 

“Kura, Kura,” Hecatia says, heart racing, “Calm down. I’m here, I’m listening. Do you know _why_ M-- why Mommy went into the bathroom?” The girl calling Junko _Mommy_ wasn’t exactly a new development, and yet it managed to give Hecatia pause, to glance around the break room and confirm its emptiness before continuing.

 

_“N-No,”_ Kura sobs, “S-She just-- we were gonna, gonna make hot cocoa an’, an’, an’ she got all the stuff, out, b-but when I c-came over to ask if she could h-help me get a cup she, she grabbed, the counter really h-hard and made, a weird, face, and she, and then she ran into the-- and she won’t--”

 

Hecatia had been utterly silent throughout Kura’s explanation, staring wide-eyed into nothing at all.

 

“... Kura,” she says, as calmly as she can, “Can you give the phone to Mommy, please? I’m going to come home.”

 

“H-Huh?” A sniffle on the other end of the line.

 

“I want to talk to her,” Hecatia continued, “Can you slide the phone under the door?”

 

“... um, y-yeah, um, hold on--”

 

Hecatia was already on her way out the door when she heard the soft _sshf_ of the home cell sliding from carpet to linoleum, and she let out a quiet breath, focused her efforts on listening.  

 

There wasn’t quite _silence_ on the other side, though it was close - jumping, hitching, _quiet_ breaths coming in sharp and uneven were the only indication to Hecatia that somebody was there at all.

 

“Junko?” She said, pausing for only a moment, fingertips touched lightly to the car door. “Junko, are you there?”

 

A sharp intake of breath, a second or two of silence.

 

“Junko?”

 

A soft, trailing _sob._

 

Hecatia could not get herself into the car fast enough. “Junko, please, pick up the phone? May I talk to you?”

 

A sort of negative noise came through the speaker, and Hecatia shook her head, put in the hands-free, started the ignition. “Honey, _please--”_

 

She froze when the half-strangled, _pained_ cry crackled through her ears.

 

“Junko, _pick up the phone.”_ Hecatia had a feeling she would end up testing the upper boundary of the speed limit in a moment or two. “ _Please.”_

 

Silence again - but then, finally, the quiet breaths sounded much closer to the phone’s speaker than they had before.

 

“Junko?” The young woman asked, a note of hope bleeding into her tone.

 

Soft affirmation.

 

“Oh,” Hecatia sighed, flicked the turn signal. “Thank god. I’m on my way home right now, okay?”

 

Nothing but breathing for a few long moments, then another affirmation, tremorous.

 

“Can you talk to me?” She asked, voice quiet and even.

 

Hecatia could practically _hear_ her partner’s head shake. “... nn.”

 

“Well then, just--” She stumbled, slightly, nearly missed the exit, “Just keep the phone? Okay? Keep hold of the phone.”

 

Probably just a nod, heard the shifting, now just breathing. Hecatia took the opportunity for a deep breath of her own, thought for a moment. Needed to keep talking, but what to talk about? No, didn’t necessarily need to be talking, just as long as she knows she’s here.

 

And so it was with this that Hecatia found herself humming more songs than she realized she knew, speeding in a not-entirely reckless but not-entirely mindful way, and periodically mentioning things such as “I just turned onto 75th,” “I’m passing the corner store,” “I’m coming up the drive, okay?” into the hands-free set, from within which returned little more than choppy breathing and, occasionally, a sound that could be widely interpreted as “alright”.

 

Never once in her life had she been so glad to see the tiny little apartment they called home.

 

“I’m coming up to the front door, okay?” She says, takes the stairs two at a time, fishes the key out of her pocket. “So I’m going to hang up. I’ll be right there, don’t worry,”

 

Kura was waiting inside the living room, curled up on the couch.

 

“M-Mama?” She stammered as Hecatia passed, looking like she was about to jump over the back of the sofa right then and there, “Mama, why are-- is Mommy gonna be--”

 

“Everything’s going to be alright, Kura,” Hecatia said, en route to the bathroom, one palm out, “Just, please hold on for a moment, okay? Wait there on the couch, just for a second,” jiggled the doorknob, didn’t turn, raps her knuckles softly on the wood.

 

“Junko, can you unlock the door…?”

 

Quietly, slowly, the shuffle of feet to door back again the doorknob turns now open door look for her there she is--

 

Hecatia chokes on her breath.

 

Bright red lines mark Junko’s arms, from shoulder to elbow, angry, painful-looking, some with bright beads of scarlet gathering along their lengths and her face, her cheeks, down the sides of her neck, the same way.

 

Junko sits, head down, on the edge of the bathtub - hands still clutching the cell phone for dear life, crimson ground under her fingernails. Doesn’t look at Hecatia. Hardly even moves.

 

_“Oh, my god,”_ says Hecatia, and her heart drops right into the pit of her stomach when she sees Junko _flinch._

 

“I, I’m _s-orry,”_ the other woman chokes out, hands jerking as if to make their way back towards her face _no, no no no don’t_ but they stay wrapped around the phone like a lifeline and Hecatia makes her way forward, slowly.

 

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” she murmurs, carefully puts her hands on Junko’s shoulders, looks a little closer at her-- this will need peroxide, this will need bandages. “What on Earth-- no-- no, let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

Junko shakes her head, keeps her head down.

 

“Junko,” Hecatia says again, “You’re _bleeding.”_

 

“Good,” Junko whispers.

 

Hecatia sighs, lightly squeezes Junko’s shoulders, and turns to open the medicine cabinet. “We have to get you cleaned up,” she says, and it isn’t a suggestion.

 

Junko says nothing as the other gathers up the peroxide, the cotton balls, the gauze. She doesn’t look up when Hecatia gently, slowly, dabs the disinfectant down her arms, down her cheeks, barely flinches at the sting.

 

Her eyes only come up to search Hecatia’s face after the other has finished wrapping her right arm, and Junko licks her chapped lips, stares a moment.

 

“You ought,” she says hoarsely, eyes flickering from her partner to the mirror to the floor and back again, “to kick me out.”

 

She doesn’t notice that she’s crying until Hecatia’s thumb comes up, gentle, brushes a tear away.

 

* * *

 

Hecatia hadn’t asked.

 

For one thing, she didn’t know what to ask in the first place. Nothing seemed out-of-place in the main house; Kura was perfectly alright, if awfully worried; and so the woman was at a loss as to _what,_ exactly, had caused the other such duress.

 

And, admittedly enough, Hecatia wasn’t sure if she _wanted_ to ask.

 

_She’s sleeping right now,_ she told herself day-of, reassuring Kura that she’d be okay, cleaning up the kitchen, cleaning up the restroom - _so I’ll ask tomorrow._

 

_She’s looking a little better,_ she told herself the next day, weekend, seeing Junko _(black sweater covering arms, neck)_ smile softly at breakfast, seeing Kura bounce and hug and _love_ and seeing Junko hug back just as _(a little too)_ tightly _\- I’ll ask tomorrow._

 

The next day, home day, movies on the couch, popcorn and blankets and _It’s raining out, that’s why we’re inside today,_ Hecatia smiles and Kura is dozing between herself and a sighing Junko, dozing too, head on shoulder -

 

_Maybe I won’t have to ask._

 

And so she didn’t.

 

But now Kura is sick and Junko is _inconsolable,_ crumpled in the passenger seat, sounding to Hecatia as though she would _rather die_ than let Kura spend the night at the hospital and Hecatia is gripping the steering wheel and staring dead ahead and it is startlingly clear that she _must ask,_ and she’s _going to have to ask today._

 

And so, now, she does.

 

Once they’re home, seated in the living room, on the couch, Hecatia sitting close to her beside her because this isn’t an interrogation, this is a conversation, and it is a conversation that should have happened _aeons ago._ She makes the coffee - black for her, cream and sugar for Junko - sits beside her, puts her steady hand on her partner’s trembling one and though she still has no idea _what,_ exactly, to ask, she does anyway.

 

“She’ll _die,”_ Junko says, _hopeless,_ and Hecatia’s eyes widen at the sheer conviction with which she speaks. “She’ll _die.”_

 

“No, she won’t,” Hecatia begins, “The doctor said--”

 

_“They said that last time, too,”_ The blonde woman hisses, hand beneath Hecatia’s curling into a tight fist, and the dam broke.

 

Junko didn’t talk a lot about her personal life - really, she never did. When the topic came up, the only answer she ever gave was a light laugh, a wave of the hand, “Oh, boring as anything,” and oftentimes she would simply ignore the inquiry entirely. Hecatia had assumed, therefore, that her life up to that point had been, well, _typical._ “What husband?” She’d said, jovially and perhaps a bit teasing, that day a year ago that Hecatia had become curious.

 

But now words were falling rushing pouring from Junko’s mouth like floodwater, and Hecatia sat, disbelieving, listening to every single word about the family that Junko used to have, the family that crashed and burned and cheated and died.

 

“They said that last time,” she repeats, shaky, “And he died the _very_ next day, he was _six years old,”_ she says, “And he died. ‘There was nothing we could do,’ they said, that’s _all_ they ever said, ‘There was nothing we could do,’ he _died but don’t worry, there was_ **_nothing they could do!”_ **

 

“And he didn’t _care,”_ she whispers, sharp and cold and _angry,_ “He _didn’t_ _care._ He didn’t shed a _single tear_ for his own _son,_ his _own damn son_ ** _died_** _and he_ ** _didn’t, care!_** _What_ kind of person _watches their child_ ** _die_** and then _goes about the rest of their day, like it was_ ** _normal?”_**  She stops, abrupt, breathes in a deep breath, “No, no, I’ll tell you - the kind of person who would _kill_ their child. _That’s who.”_

 

“And I know _why,_ too,” Junko says, sweet and sickly syrup dripping off her words, “I know _why_ my _husband_ wanted him dead, too, cheating _bastard,_ he worked for them, you know? Got in real sweet with his boss, decided he didn’t _want_ us anymore, made sure _my son_ got that disease, made _damn_ sure nothing they’d give him would cure it and I would have been next,”

 

“J-Junko,” Hecatia tries to cut in, but she hasn’t any idea what to make of this any more than she knows what to say and Junko rolls right over her.

 

_“I would have been next,”_ she continues, the corners of her mouth quirking up against her will, “But I didn’t let him. I made sure he couldn’t.” The self-satisfied way she said it, the pleased hum that escaped her throat--

 

She took a sip of her coffee, stared into the light brown liquid like a looking glass. “They ruled it as natural causes.” Junko smiles, though it stops far from her eyes. “There was nothing they could have done.”

 

“... you…?” Hecatia doesn’t even realize she’s brought her arms around herself until she’s said the word, the one word, the only part of the thought she can finish.

 

Junko doesn’t reply, smirks emptily into her cup of coffee, doesn’t say a word, doesn’t look at Hecatia.

 

“... but Junko, that’s,” She half-laughs, sounds more like choking. “That’s _ridiculous,_ there’s no way--”

 

“It _is_ ridiculous,” The blonde mumbles, “It _is_ ridiculous. And I thought it-- believed it-- _did it,_ anyway.” She swallows, hand squeezes tightly around the mug in her hand. “I even thought-- I’ve even thought-- for _moments,_ I’ve thought-- thought that _you,_ maybe--”

 

She can’t finish.

 

“... _you ought to kick me out,”_ Junko whispers, and Hecatia’s arms are around her shoulders, forehead pressed to her temple.

 

“Don’t talk like that,” Hecatia says firmly, and she feels Junko start to shake her head, _“Don’t talk like that.”_

 

“You _should,”_ she protests, “You _should.”_

 

Hecatia shuts her eyes, and holds her tighter.

 

“I won’t.”

 

“You--”

 

_“I won’t.”_

 

_“Why?”_ Junko asks, and Hecatia can hear the tears in her voice before she can feel them drop, warm, wet, onto her arms-- _“Why wouldn’t you?_ I just told you, _I just told you and you’re not,”_

 

“I’m _not going to kick you out, Junko.”_

 

Truthfully.

 

Hecatia doesn’t know _what_ she’ll do.

 

But she knows what she won’t do.

 

“Junko, I love you,” she says, “Kura loves you. You’re family. You’re _our family.”_ Swallows. “I’m not kicking you out. Not now and not ever.”

 

Junko doesn’t have a rebuttal, just shakes her head, shakes her head, shakes her head and _cries._

 

And though she bites her lip, blinks, holds her breath, Hecatia can’t stop her own tears from falling.

 

* * *

 

They’d ended up sleeping there, on the couch, well into the afternoon - in fact, they probably would have slept on until late, had Hecatia’s phone not started buzzing, chirping, and in general impeding the pursuit of well-needed rest.

 

“Mmnf,” Hecatia yawns, fumbles around for her cell, feels Junko shift slightly beside her and makes a soft shushing noise, clicks off the ringer, squints at the bright display.

 

_3:00 - 6:00_

_Visiting Hours_

 

The woman lets out a long sigh, puts the phone in her lap, shuts her eyes for another moment.

 

“Hey, Junko,” she murmurs, “hey. I’m going to head out for a bit.”

 

“Hmmn?” The blonde was slowly blinking awake, turned her head to look at Hecatia - who simply flipped over her phone in response, gently hugged Junko’s shoulder.

 

“Oh.”

 

Junko bites her lip, but nods, and Hecatia frowns. “I’m sorry, hon--”

 

“It’s alright,” the blonde says, sighs slightly, rolls back into a more comfortable position, “I know why. … thank you for looking out for me.” She adds.

 

“... It’s no problem.” Hecatia stands, stretches, begins to gather her things - water, car keys, a puzzle to do, perhaps - but can’t ignore the _ache_ in her heart when she looks back over at Junko, curled on her side, waiting for Hecatia to go and bring her back news, unable to visit the child she was so scared for.

 

Life was horribly, horribly unfair sometimes.

 

The younger woman grits her teeth, shakes her head, and goes to put her cell in he--

 

Her cell.

 

She stares at the smartphone in her hand with the kind of reverence one saves for ancient treasures, divine wisdoms, solved Rubik’s Cubes. Slowly, her gaze travels to the matching one, the _home cell,_ charging on the kitchen island.

 

“Junko?” She says, growing excitement, utterly unable to keep the grin off her face as the other woman raises her head over the back of the sofa, gives her an odd look.

 

“I think you can visit Kura, after all.”

 

* * *

 

The little blonde girl in the hospital bed perks up, looks hurriedly to the curtain, when she hears a familiar voice trail in from down the hallway.

 

“... for such a scene, earlier - she’s, a, a bit of a worrier. I got it explained to her.”

 

_Mama!_ Kura thinks, sitting up fully no-- oof, bad idea, not all at once, nauseous and lies back for a moment, doesn’t really wanna throw up again. But Mama strides into the room, all smiles, not a moment later and she’s so excited her stomach does flip-flops anyway and she squirms, so excited. “Mama, Mama!”

 

“Hey there, sweetheart!” Hecatia says, ruffles the child’s hair, sighs in a good way when she sees Kura’s treasured eagle plush nestled beside her in bed, knows very well how it got there. “You feeling any better?” The woman can feel the unnatural heat without even passing her palm over Kura’s forehead - though she does anyway, out of habit - and the little girl shrugs, a bit, shakes her head slightly.

 

“Um… not _super_ better,” she admits, “Lots better than yesterday.”

 

Hecatia notices the bucket near the bed, nods.

 

“Well, that’s a little improvement, at least.” She says, pulls the rolling chair _(doc’s not here,_ she thinks, _doesn’t need to be at the desk, now, does it?)_ over to sit beside her daughter’s bed, fishes the puzzle and a pack of cards out of her purse.

 

Kura cranes her neck to look over at the hallway, turns back to her mother.

 

“Um…”

 

“Hm?” Hecatia looks up when she hears Kura, and the girl actually _pauses_ for a moment, opens her mouth, closes it.

 

“... is Mommy coming, too?”

 

Hecatia sighs.

 

“Well, kiddo, here’s the thing,” She starts, settles back in her chair, “The doctor said that Mommy wasn’t allowed to come up here, _just_ because,” she catches the look on the little girl’s face, holds up a placating hand, “They don’t want her to get sick, too, and really, I don’t want her to get sick either.” She leans in, whispers with a smile, “Remember how cranky she got when she caught that cold?”

 

“Oh,” and Kura giggles a little, “Yeah, I remember.”  

 

“Man, we’d _never_ hear the end of it if she ended up puking.” Hecatia shakes her head, laughs a bit herself. “Anyway, anyway, so, the doctors said she really shouldn’t come up here...”

 

“Ohh,” Kura deflates a little, but nods. “... yeah, I guess.”

 

“But,” Hecatia continues, casually reaching into her pocket, “I snuck her up here, anyway.”

 

_“Huh?”_ Kura’s eyes go wide, and she wiggles up a bit on the headboard, hands gripping the sheet in tense excitement. “Whad’you mean? Where is she? Won’t she get sick?”

 

“Nah,” the young woman says, waves a hand and pokes at the screen of her phone with the other. “She’ll be just fine.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Mmhm,” she grins, and passes the phone to Kura. “She’s right here.”

 

_Facetiming Home Cell..._

 

_“Oh!”_ And the little girl lights up in joy as the screen opens to show her other mother’s smiling face.

 

_[“Kura!”]_

 

_“Mommy!”_

 

Hecatia leans back in the rolling chair, folds her hands behind her head, and feels her heart soar, listens to Kura and Junko happily chatting away.

 

_Life_ **_is_ ** _horribly unfair, sometimes,_ the young woman thinks.

 

_But sometimes, somehow - it manages to come out alright._

**Author's Note:**

> seriously please tell me if i fucked up. 
> 
> thank you for reading, ashjkajdjsafjkaj


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